


Welcome to the Planet of the Grown-ups

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [26]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Actually, I appreciate your interest,” she says.  “It’s not often we get someone with the right combination of skills for this sort of role, and to find a candidate like you who is also very familiar with the way we work around here-… well, it just doesn’t happen.”  </p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>I Caught the Hand You Extended</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2477045/chapters/5494610">Changes</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Life starts to straighten itself out a little. It's terrifying.

Loki teeters on the edge of the long, dark, leather-covered wooden bench outside the Director of Operations’ office. He’s so tense he’s shaking. That, and he wishes now that he’d come clean with his brother about all this; it would mean one less thing heaped onto the giant Heap of Anxieties and Guilts that threatens to crush him presently.

~

 _This really isn’t the sort of thing you need to take to confession_ , Dr. Riley had teased him during his session earlier that morning, when he’d given voice to the same general insecurities. _Thor doesn’t own you. You don’t need his permission to do this interview_ , she’d gone on when he’d made a face, _and I doubt he’d even be the sort to claim you did_. She’d grinned then, her trademark mildly evil smirk that always scares him a little. _And if by some chance I’m wrong_ , she’d reminded him, _I’m happy to help him adjust his way of thinking._

He’d opened his mouth to protest, but had ended shutting it again with his thoughts unspoken. His brother is many things, not all of them good, but she’s right in saying it’s hard to imagine Thor jealous or angry about the idea of him supervising pottery.

No, that sort of overblown behavior is more Loki’s kind of thing.

Well, except for the Fandral situation, and that was- an exception, maybe?

~

Loki shifts a little, pushing himself farther back on the seat. The leather, at least where he hadn’t been touching it previously, is surprisingly cold beneath his thighs. He’s better-dressed than usual today; certainly not “real world” interview-worthy clothing, from what he’s read and seen, but he’s in a collared shirt and lightweight, tailored charcoal pants that employ both a belt and a zipper. That, and they don’t bag and sag in the ass like his usually stretchy lounge pants do.

He’d waffled on a tie, even going so far as to bring one along _just in case_ , but he’s already fidgety and uncomfortable and a hot, itchy band of collar pressed all the way around his neck isn’t going to do anything for his focus.

This is getting ridiculous. _He’s_ getting ridiculous.

 _What’s the worst thing that can happen_ , Loki asks himself. They’ve been practicing this sort of thinking in DBT.

Not practicing hard enough, apparently; he can only imagine the shocking horrors that come to mind are _not at all_ what his instructor intended.

~

“Come in, Mr. Laufeyson.” The Director holds her door open for him, sidestepping neatly out of the way. She’s in a pencil skirt and sharp-looking heels that wouldn’t be out of place on Ginny; the whole thing is topped off with a pale grey sweater set and a sparkling _statement necklace_.

Loki’s stomach flips. He’s not even close enough to shake her hand – which he ultimately does, properly, after successfully fighting the urge to wipe his palm (which isn’t sweating anyway, because his palms never do) on the front of his trousers – yet and he’s already feeling like he’s undershot this.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he gets out just as the silence shifts from awkward to oppressive.

“Not at all,” she assures him. She’s smooth and pleasant, acting like everything going exactly as expected. Whatever that means.

 _Stop fucking thinking_ , he orders himself.

“Actually, I appreciate your interest,” she says. “It’s not often we get someone with the right combination of skills for this sort of role, and to find a candidate like you who is also very familiar with the way we work around here-… well, it just doesn’t happen.” She’s warm and smiling, and he starts to relax.

Just a little, and not for long.

“Tell me about your-,” she starts, and Loki stiffens.

Here it comes. Here come the questions about his work history, which essentially doesn’t exist. Or worse. “I was a hooker” is going to be a hard sell, with “and I ran drugs for my pimp” coming in behind it at _downright fucking impossible_.

What she’s really saying, though, when he manages to make himself _get unstuck_ and listen, isn’t nearly that awful: “-work in our studio,” she finishes. Oh. Okay, that’s something he can do. “I’ve heard great things about your pottery.”

The piece he made recently, the one that had started out as a normal enough vase and then sagged of its own accord, is now gracing one of the heavy wooden tables out in the lobby. It’s the only client piece featured there, standing tall and proud among the _real_ , professional art selected by their decorator. Loki tries to concentrate on that, on the warm feeling – half embarrassment, half pride – seeing it gives him, but his mind is flying on ahead at a million miles an hour.

~

Once he gets going, though, it’s not quite so bad. “I never really studied art as a child,” he tells her in response to one of her follow-up questions, “but I got into clay in the town where I used to live” – _clay, and drugs, and sex with rich men for pay_ … he gets past that with only the slightest hitch in his voice, small enough he can even tell himself she didn’t notice – “and I’ve really enjoyed it. A pottery studio was one of my _must-haves_ , really, when I came here and chose this program.”

Inside his own head, Loki winces. He’s not sure if that last bit was a good move or a dumb, cocky, I-have-my-pick-of-the-world’s-riches one. The Director is smiling, though, and nodding. “Our art offerings are important to us,” she agrees. “That’s part of why we’re making this change to begin with.” She consults her notes. “And you’ve been volunteering at an animal shelter?”

Now? _Now_ they’re getting somewhere. Loki could talk for hours about the shelter, his work there, the cats. “I love it,” he says, trying (and probably failing) to stop short of _gushing_. “I like knowing I’m making a difference,” he expounds, smiling, “and it’s the perfect mix of alone time and teamwork. That, and,” he adds, because he can’t not say it even though she might be a dog person, “I love the cats. I hadn’t had much exposure to animals, before I came here, but they’re amazing.”

Her face lights up, and he breathes a silent sigh of relief. “The cat program here is my baby,” she tells him. “I did the original grant proposal a few years ago, before I took over this team, and I supervised the inaugural season. It’s nice to hear people still find value in it.”

Loki nods. “It was a really good idea,” he assures her, “and I know the cats like it too.”

After that, the ice is broken and talking gets easier and easier. The final half hour flies by.

When their time is up and he stands to go, the Director rises with him. They shake hands again, and Loki doesn’t really have to fake his confidence this time.

“There’s no point in keeping you in suspense,” she tells him as she walks with him to the door. “The job is yours if you want it. But think on it for a couple of days,” she insists before he can respond, “before you let me know.”

~

Back out in the hall with just time to make it to his next session, Loki can’t decide whether it’s time to cheer or to panic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor magpie.

Loki vows (to try) not to think about _any of it_ \- not the interview, not the job itself, especially not telling Thor) during lunch, because he’d been too nervous to eat breakfast and way, way, _way_ too nervous to snack. If he keeps this up and doesn’t eat anything until dinner, bad things may happen. Once upon a time he’d gotten by fine on a meal a day, if that, but everyone here stresses that maintaining sobriety is at least partly dependent on taking good care of oneself.

They may not be wrong.

That and, when he doesn’t eat all day… well, it’s pretty much the only time Loki finds himself tempted to take up smoking (again).

All other reasons (and there are a number) aside, he (very much) doesn’t want to be one of _those people_ : the poor, frantic losers who have to race for the tiny, unattractive smokers’ area during every break (and who, consequently, spends the last fifteen minutes of every class and session stealthily watching the clock and trying not to panic). That’s exactly the sort of lifestyle he’s here to get away from.

Fortunately, one of today’s lunch choices is ravioli. Spinach ravioli, even. Loki is 100% in need of comfort food, so he gets his without sauce and then loads everything up with butter and parmesan cheese before heading off to find himself a table. His route takes him – not accidentally – past the magazine rack, and he balances the tray carefully in one hand (since spilling buttery ravioli is a cardinal sin) as he flips quickly through the magazines with the other. One of the covers catches his eye… a high-end travel magazine featuring European river cruises. As topics go that one sounds both safe and sufficiently distracting, so he stuffs the glossy thing under his tray-carrying arm and resumes hunting for a quiet place to sit.

It’s a solid plan and it works, for the most part. He comes out of the dining room 45 minutes later (feeling a little less tightly-wound and) the proud owner of a brand-new thirst for exploring the Danube. Of course he doesn’t have a passport… and there’s that little problem about being a convicted felon. As he walks through the polished hallways on his way to DBT Loki fantasizes briefly about traveling on forged papers. Because, yeah, no; there’s absolutely no way in hell Thor would ever let something like that happen. Unfortunately, much like the people here who insist that Loki eats, his brother would be right.

The pictures were so lovely, though. _Yet another reason_ , Loki thinks, sighing, _to have made different choices_.

~

DBT would be hilarious if it wasn’t so infuriating. They’re working on _mindfulness_. If ever there were a day (recently, at least; he knows, in earlier stages, things were a lot different… by which he means _worse_ , honestly!) Loki might be completely incapable of remaining even partially mindful, this would be it. Unbelievably the second half of class is worse and things sink even further into the mire; rather than sharing experiences, the students have to (try to) meditate. The whole thing is absolutely hopeless. Loki despises meditation on a good, peaceful day. Today, it’s all he can do not to scream.

~

Tyr catches him in the hall on his way to the library. “Dr. Riley wants to see you for a few minutes before you _go arting_ ,” Tyr says, smiling. “Nothing bad,” he promises as Loki groans and turns around. “She just wants to follow up on how things went this morning.”

~

She’s curled up in her chair with a book when he arrives at her office. “Hey there,” she says when he clears his throat. “How are you holding up?”

Loki shuts the door behind himself. “I’m so wound up I feel like I’m going crazy,” he tells her, “which is stupid because I’m _already_ crazy, you know? I- I’m just freaking out. I’m having trouble coming down from earlier, I think. And then they made me _meditate_ ,” he complains, laughing. Sort of.

Dr. Riley smiles. “Oooh, your favorite,” she teases. “And so timely!”

He bares his teeth and growls, but he’s still laughing a little and she doesn’t react. “It sucked,” he grumbles. He plops down in one of the chairs with a loud sigh. “You wanted to see me?”

“I did,” she agrees. “I heard good things about your interview earlier and wanted to quickly check in with you about it.”

“The Director offered me the job,” he says, “but then you probably knew that. So I guess it went fine? But she did make me agree to think about it before accepting.” Loki half-shrugs. Which probably looks like he’s got some kind of neurological problem, so he stops it. “And I guess I should tell Thor.”

She twirls her pen. He wishes he could do that; it’s the kind of fidgeting that looks über-cool. “Do you think he’s going to react badly,” she asks.

He does, and he doesn’t. “I don’t think he’ll care about the job itself,” he tells her, “but I’m sure he’ll be weird about my reasons.”

Her eyebrows go up, but she’s still more or less smiling. _Go on_ , she gestures, smoothly catching her pen.

This part is hard. “If we’re going to- well, not _get married_ , because we can’t, but commit to some sort of lasting arrangement,” he tries, which sounds dumb, “I want to feel like I bring something to the table. I want to be more than just a _sex toy_ ,” Loki elaborates. He makes himself not look away. None of this is any secret, and it doesn’t really embarrass him, so there’s no need to act like an awkward, naive teenager.

Dr. Riley cocks her head. She, of course, is not embarrassed either. “Is that how you think Thor sees you?” Embarrassed or not, she isn’t smiling anymore.

Loki’s breath rushes out in a little huff that isn’t quite a laugh. “Oh, no, definitely not. Hence why he would – he will,” he corrects, because he and his brother _do_ need to have this conversation, “- be weird about it. He hates it when I talk about myself that way. But it’s reality, you know? The only thing I know how to do is sell,” he goes on, shrugging the normal way this time. “And by _sell_ I mean _me_.”

“What, specifically, about this makes Thor uncomfortable,” she asks.

_All of it_ , Loki thinks, but that’s a cop-out and she will call him on it. “He would never pay for sex,” he tells her instead. His brother isn’t the kind of customer Malekith’s guys would have tolerated anyway; they never liked large, angry men. _Too much trouble,_ Algrim – a large, angry man himself – always said. _Not worth the fucking money_.

Thor isn’t the right kind of desperate, ultimately, and Malekith didn’t particularly like doing business with dangerous people.

“Are you _sure_ that’s what would bother him,” she prompts, because he is a lying liar and she sees right through it.

Loki sighs again. “No,” he admits. “I mean, yes, I’m sure, and no, that’s not it.” It isn’t, and she isn’t really asking to start with. “He doesn’t like it at all when I think badly of myself. But here I am looking at starting a new job and I don’t even have the slightest idea how to interact with a boss who doesn’t want to fuck me.” He swallows, twice. “How can I _not_ think badly of myself? The last time – the _only_ time - I was working, I was nothing more than two warm holes in a pretty wrapper.”

“You know,” Dr. Riley says after a moment – a long moment, one Loki spends clenching his teeth and vowing not to cry – “I don’t want to speak for Thor, especially since he’s not even here to corroborate, but I suspect at least part of what bothers him is that you still feel you have to see yourself that way.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists. One tear overflows and drips onto his arm.

“It’s _a_ truth,” she corrects. “You’re a lot more than that, kiddo.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talking about things makes them real.

There isn't anyone out in the front room of the art studio when Loki pokes his head in, so he wanders over to the window seat and makes himself at home. The room is warmly honey-colored during the day; it reminds him of Thor. By early evening like this, though, everything is blue-tinged and moody. Right now the space reminds him a whole lot more of himself.

"Hey there," Tyr says brightly, tacking on a hasty "sorry!" when Loki - caught with his head lolling against a tall column and his thoughts waaaay off in la-la land - jumps half out of his own skin. "You're not here to break my pencils, are you?"

Tyr's eyes crinkle at the corners when he really smiles. The network of wrinkles should make him look older; they don’t, somehow.

Loki grins. "I'm more in the mood to shred a few _brushes_ ," he kids, pretend-grabbing for Tyr's fistful. "Actually," he goes on, changing gears, "I just wanted to talk for a minute. If you don't mind." It's past quitting time and Tyr's list of _ideal evening plans_ is highly unlikely to include _Lokisitting_.

"Not at all," Tyr assures him, swinging an armless wooden chair around and straddling its seat backwards. "Shoot."

"Um," Loki says, because these days he's kind of turning into his brother. "You know I interviewed today to work here. With- um, you. Here." Awesome. He sounds like an idiot.

"I do," Tyr agrees, nodding. His eyes are still smiling. "I actually suggested you for the position," he says. "You're turning into quite the potter. And I figure by now you know right where everything goes," he adds, smirking. "Seriously, I think you are" - not _would be_ , but _are_ \- "a perfect fit. You're smart, you're creative, you take good care of things - usually," he amends when Loki snorts, " - and you don't bug the living shit out of me. That last bit may not be important to you, but it's my number one criterion."

Loki nods enthusiastically. He totally, totally gets that part. "I just want to talk to my partner about it tonight," he says, "before I make my final decision."

"Well, I sure hope you take it," Tyr says, firmly. As Loki stands to go, mouth already open to say _thanks_ and _goodnight_ , the coordinator holds out his prosthesis palm-up. "Hold on. You wanted to talk about something?"

"Eh," Loki lies, "it slipped my mind. If it's important, I'm sure it will come to me."

Actually, he's already gotten the information he came for.

~

_On my way home_ , Loki texts his brother as he walks out the front door of the center. _I have news._ He smiles a little to himself as he shoves his phone in his pocket, but his hands shake just the same.

~

It's always been true: the way to Thor's mind is through his heart, and the way to his heart is through his stomach.

With that in mind Loki stops off at the fancy grocer's along the way. He's dead-set on a feast, the kind that will keep them both busy cooking and then both preoccupied with eating.

Ahi, lemon, jicama, heirloom baby carrots, fresh ginger; one by one they find their way - neatly and carefully - into his basket. A crisp, perfect, sour-looking Granny Smith apple. A few cloves of garlic. Sparkling grape juice, the really expensive kind that's made in small batches by an actually household-name winery rather than thrown together a ton at a time by some gigantic nationwide processor.

Last and _not_ least, a chocolate-glazed ball of rich, fudgy, ganache-laden sinful goodness that looks like a boob - right down (up?) to its fresh raspberry nipple - and tastes (no guesswork here; the nice teenager at the counter gives him a tiny sample) like heaven. Better. He wonders what the poor girl would do it he announced it was like licking into the mouth of god.

Thor would just roll his eyes.

It really _is_ that good, though.

Loki vows to remind himself of this exact dessert the next time he's overly tempted to kill himself.

~

_That_ particular tidbit of wisdom, he is absolutely not sharing with his brother; for all that it's actually progress, Loki doubts Thor would see it that way.

_Could_ see it that way, even.

~

At the register he braces himself for the usual _special occasion for your special lady_ shit. All the checker says, though, is "that looks delicious." Loki relaxes into a big, relieved smile.

"Oh, yes," he agrees. "It certainly will be."

~ 

The walk home starts out pleasantly enough and ends up with Loki flat-out anxious. Starting up with his brother via text – sharing the pain, as it were – had seemed like a good idea at the time; now, though, he’s sorry. Coming home all wound up to an equally spazzy Thor doesn’t sound particularly smart or even all that entertaining.

~

Sure enough, his brother is _right there_ as Loki steps into the apartment. "So," Thor says before he can even get the door closed, "you said you have news for me?"

Loki swallows down his own nerves. "Over dinner," he insists, forking over the bags and stripping out of his winter clothing. He makes himself do everything properly… boots on the rubber tray, coat and scarf on hooks, gloves in the basket by door. _Relax_ , he reminds himself.

He doesn’t.

No surprises there.

~

"So it's a special occasion," Thor tries again as they unload everything onto the kitchen island.

Okay, so not ready for this conversation. For _any_ conversation, really. "I'm not- I don’t know," Loki stammers. "I hope so."

~

Something in his reaction puts Thor off; the two of them go on to assemble the entire meal in silence, tense and strained but still weaving out of one another’s way with the skill and grace of dancers. Loki knows he should probably feel bad about the whole thing; in all honesty, though, he’s just grateful for the quiet.

By the time – and it doesn’t take long, really; shopping was the longer part of this particular meal – everything is ready the apartment smells amazing and the tension is so thick they could smash it with a hammer.

~

"Okay," Thor says the exact second his ass hits the cushion, " _over dinner_.” He gestures - _voila!_ \- at the food spread out between them, sniffing hungrily. “Now, out with it, before we both implode."

It’s so typical of his brother that Loki can’t help but laugh. Why go at something by degrees when you can just grab it? "I," he begins and then falters. "I was offered a job," he grits out, finally. “Today.”

Thor looks- _shocked_. "I- um- didn't know you were interviewing," he squeaks.

Loki’s own panic is all that stops him from laughing at his brother’s expression. "I wasn't, really,” he confesses. “Dr. Riley approached me about it a few days ago." He looks at his food, the edge of the table, and then his own lap. "I needed to understand all of it better before I said something," he explains, to himself as much as anyone. "I wasn't trying to hide anything."

"No, it's okay," Thor says. He doesn’t sound upset, exactly; just nervous. "So, where,” he asks. “Doing what? Does that mean you're done with treatment? I mean, I know things are going better. I just didn't-," on and on, rapid-fire, one question right after another.

"Stop," Loki orders, laughing again. The two of them deserve each other. Ridiculous, they are. The both of them. He reaches across the table to touch his brother’s wrist. God knows they could use a little grounding. "I can only answer so many things at one time,” he reminds Thor gently, “and even that's assuming you take a breather and let me."

"Okay, it's at the center," Loki goes on after a couple more minor interruptions. "They never did fill their art instructor position, and the art coordinator has been limping along trying to do both." It’s the perfect spot for a _one-armed paper-hanger_ joke, except: holy inappropriate. Loki doesn’t go there.

"He says they're promoting him, and he needs someone to take over the coordination part - ordering and stocking supplies, making everything is set up, helping with the schedule, and maybe helping people with pottery sometimes, because painting happens to be his thing," Loki explains when Thor says nothing. They are both world-class babblers. "It's part-time. Dr. Riley says I'm ready to drop back to less intensive treatment anyway. I interviewed today. They had me try a few of the things I would have to do; afterwards they told me I was a lot better than their outside candidates." It isn’t until he’s done that Loki realizes he has a death grip on his brother’s forearm. His knuckles are white and his hand is cramping.

"Congratulations," Thor says after a few moments. "I'm proud of you." He studies Loki’s face. "It looks like there's a but, though," he adds, trying to shift his arm away. “And _oww_.”

Loki lets go. His nails have left big white dents in his brother’s skin. "Sorry," he offers, and he is. "But I- I can't decide if working there is a smart idea or a cop-out."

_Huh_. He isn’t sure he’d realized that was even what was wrong. It’s true, though; getting a job there feels a little like- like working for his mother. Except for how she’s- yeah. No.

Thor’s reaction, if he has one, doesn’t show in his face at all. "Do you think you would like it," he asks, smiling softly. Nicely. Like he actually _is_ happy about the whole idea.

"I do," Loki admits. "The guy I'd be working for is really nice, and he loves my clay work. Even after I went apeshit on the room that one time, he's been great." Tyr really is a good person. "And it would be both convenient and smart to be right there. And they don't care about my lack of a degree. If nothing else,” he concedes, “I guess, it would get me started. I’m probably not going to get chances like this just any old where." Actually, there’s no _probably_ about it; he’s not sure anyplace else would even consider him.

But he does think he would like it, too.

"You've been doing a lot of thinking," his brother observes drily.

"Mm," Loki hums, thinking _more like a lot of talking, really_. "I'm leaning towards yes. But- but it just feels- too easy?"

For an instant Thor looks as though he might cry; he doesn’t. "Mom would say go with your gut," he says softly.

Marci ambles over to sniff at the edge of the table; Loki gives her a little poke. "I could still help out at the shelter," he assures- her, and his brother too. Himself, mostly. "My day would be the same length; I'd just be costing you less and earning actual money. I'd finally almost not be a burden."

Thor opens his mouth and closes it. On the second try he simply says "Let's eat. And Loki? I'll stand behind you, whatever you choose."

It’s a nice gesture, it is, but it’s too sentimental and this is no time to be bawling. Loki grins sharply instead. "What, and push me face-first into a snowbank," he asks, willfully missing the point.

Completely.

"Of course," Thor jabs, grinning right back at him. "What are brothers for?"

~

"Whew,” said _brother_ breathes after several minutes of companionable enough silence broken only by chewing. “I was really nervous."

"What were you hoping I was going to say," Loki mumbles with his mouth full. So sue him.

"I'm not sure," Thor says, shrugging. "I didn't let myself get that far." He tips his glass. "To brothers."

"To us," Loki offers instead. He clinks his own glass against his brother’s and then washes down the last of his food with a big gulp of grape juice. "Forever."

Thor nods. His face lights up like the fucking sun. “Forever.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The job decision has a lot of pieces to it.

"So," Dr. Riley asks as Loki slouches in his chair and picks at one end of the drawstring that’s holding his pants up, "did you share your news with Thor?"

He nods. "I bribed him with food," he tells looking up at her with a small smile. "Who can say no to little piles of chocolate sex?"

She laughs, but she doesn't ask anything else and Loki knows he isn't off the hook yet. "I did talk with him, though," he admits. "He seemed - surprised, I guess. But not _un-okay_ with it. And not angry or anything." He purses his lips and looks at the ceiling, thinking. "Overall he was- supportive." That's a good word for it. "Encouraging," he adds. "Basically he said the choice was mine and he would defer to me."

"No fight," she asks.

"Nope. No fight." He leans forward, away from the leather of the chair, and rolls his shoulders. "I'm really fucking tense, though."

"These are really big things you're dealing with right now," she tells him. "Really big things you're _doing_. This would be hard on anyone."

He's not sure what she means. "Hm?"

She smiles a little sadly. "Stuff,” she reiterates. "Job interviews. Contemplating the future of relationships. Seeing lifelong friends get married and not knowing how that will affect your own bonds. These are the types of changes that drive otherwise-healthy, stable, fully-actualized people with little to no trace of underlying mental health issues - no history of addiction, no past trauma, no you-name-it whatsoever - into therapy."

When he numbly (dumbly) studies her face, trying and failing to digest what she's saying, Dr. Riley frowns. "Normal-healthy-ordinary people? The kind you're always reminding me you're not? _They_ seek out help with these kinds of things. They _need_ help with them. This stuff is _hard_ , Loki," she stresses. "It's just part of- of being human."

He sinks back down into his chair. "I didn't mean to get you going," he apologizes.

She laughs. She's breathing hard. "You didn't," she tells him, but he’s not sure which part she means. "I watch you being so very, very hard on yourself and I just wish- I wish I could plop you down inside a _normal person's_ head and let you watch what happens."

"I've done a lot of shitty things in my life," he reminds her. "I deserve to suffer."

"Oh, Loki," she says, like she’s _hurting_ , and her tone of voice gets him. He can feel the tears building… the all-too-familiar grainy burning behind his eyelids. He used to be tougher than this. The streets would eat him alive these days, in ways they _never_ did, and that fucking _terrifies_ him.

He clears his throat. _Next topic_. "So, suppose I take this job," he says. "We talked about fitting it into my treatment, and I think I'm good there, but what- what would I actually do? After I say I'm accepting?" He thinks briefly about Thor, about all his brother's _corporate-speak_. "What would my next steps be?"

Dr. Riley pushes her sleeves up; he looks at her tattoos. "Well, if you were going out into the _big wide world_ ," she starts - he sneaks a peek at her face again and gets caught; she's kind of teasing - "we would have you partner with a liaison, someone who specializes in successful outplacement. That person would help you with the mountains of paperwork, real and electronic, hiring on entails… and also work with your new boss for six to eighteen months to help ensure the whole arrangement is successful. It's a solid approach," she assures him, "and I think we should follow it here as well."

It sounds an awful lot like having a babysitter.

Loki says as much.

She shrugs. "There is a lot involved in settling into a new job, even for people who have had many. It’s a huge adjustment. Both you and your employer stand to gain a great deal from having everything go as smoothly as possible. That’s really what the liaison is there for. No babysitting."

Loki frowns. “Did you have a babysitter when you first started working,” he challenges.

Dr. Riley shakes her head. “No,” she tells him, ruefully, “but I sure could have used one.”

~

Between lunch and the start of DBT Loki stops by the art studio to visit Tyr. He’s spent the whole meal getting his shit back together and putting his proverbial game face on; he’s feeling a little more like he _has this_. “I’m not stalking you,” he kids, grinning. “I promise. I was just wondering if I could spend a little time here tomorrow, in between things. To, you know,” he goes on when Tyr only stands there, waiting for him to finish and smiling pleasantly, “kind of see what the actual work would involve.”

“Sure,” Tyr tells him. “You’re welcome to shadow me whenever.”

_Shadow_. That’s the word he was looking for. “Mm,” he hums, feeling uncomfortably like the middle-schooler who’s just asked the hot athlete out for pizza. He badly wants to shake his hands out; he doesn’t. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Have a good night,” Tyr calls after him as he scoots back into the hall.

_Jesus fuck_ , he tells himself. _Grow up already_.

~

_Shadowing_ turns out to be both surprisingly daunting and unexpectedly fun. Loki has never used Excel, but he’s a quick study and the records Tyr maintains don’t look terribly complicated. The contracts are closer to overwhelming - that’s Thor’s thing, after all, and his brother is a fucking attorney – but Tyr promises him most of them only come up for renewal every few years. That and they, too, have an attorney to work through the difficult pieces.

Stocking the studio spaces, on the other hand, is instantly rewarding. All his life Loki has loved the look and feel of brand new art supplies: perfectly-sharpened pencils; pristine little metal tubes of paint completely free of the crumples and dings that come later; soft, thick paper.

Crayons, pastels, and chalks in a stunning array of colors.

Perfect brushes with every tiny hair in place.

All of it. He loves all of it. He runs his fingers happily over a clean stack of palettes. So beautiful.

“You look right at home here,” Tyr tells him brightly as the afternoon painting class is putting away its work. “Then again, you have since your very first day.”

Loki looks at the canvases and frames. “Do you have a substance abuse history,” he asks, like it’s nothing. Since they’re- sharing. Maybe – probably? – he shouldn’t go there, but if they’re going to work together…

Tyr smiles. “Yeah,” he says. He’s relaxed. Comfortable. “A lot of us do. It’s part of why we’re here.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accepting a job offer means enough administrivia to kill a guy.

Never in his life has Loki seen so much fucking paperwork.

Never. Not once. Not so much as a single time.

This is worse than going to jail, being committed, and reverting to his actual, legal identity after giving up his his false one combined.

And doesn’t it figure that, out of all the fucking up he’s done over time, it’s trying to do something right that ends up being the worst thing ever.

_Just stop_ , he reminds himself, but that doesn’t seem to make anything better.

Loki studies the endless stack in front of him - page after page full of meaningless nothingness: _Completing Form I-9, Pre-Employment Screening, This is Your Formulary, Your Benefits and You, Choosing Your Retirement Options_ , and those are just the ones near the top of the pile that he can see in their entirety - and wonders privately how anyone actually gets a job ever.

"Seriously," he asks his liaison, Juana. "I have to do _all_ of this?" Because there is simply no fucking way. Just, no. He’ll die naked, cold and alone in a cardboard box somewhere and like it.

" _We_ ," Juana corrects him. She’s still surprisingly pleasant, considering the way his own attitude has been steadily degrading. "We'll work through them together. I'll help," she adds as Loki rolls his eyes. "I will. Now, let’s take this one step at a time. Have you ever done any of these before?"

He snorts. "Hooker jobs have a rather different onboarding process," he observes drily. If nothing else, all this time with Thor and Loki is down with the lingo. "The emphasis is entirely on practical skills mastery, and there isn't so much as a single sheet of paperwork."

Juana laughs. "Fair enough," she concedes. "Dumb question, huh?” She shuffles through her own folder and pulls out a single sheet of pale blue stock. “Okay, then, let's run down this list and see if you have what you need."

_Government ID_ , he has. _Utility bill or charge bill in the applicant’s own name_ , no - Thor handles all that shit (for very good reason, as Loki is demonstrating beautifully just now) - but Juana is quick to reassure him the center's own internal records can cover him on that one. _Immunization records_ , surprisingly, are nearly complete; while he doesn't have his childhood records, he's been tested before each inpatient stay. He'll need a new PPD, but Juana patiently reminds him that’s an annual thing and is true for most everybody. _Social Security card,_ check; it’s even still fresh and neat, since he came (back) by it so recently. Last and kind of least, Loki is for sure no stranger to drug testing. "We know you're on medication that will skew your results," Juana explains, "and we're okay with that. But even so I can't get you out of it entirely."

Loki flaps his hands in dismissal. _Yeah, yeah, whatever_. "I'm okay with it too," he tells her. He only gets tested every time he stubs a toe or sprouts a fucking hangnail. "What else?"

She taps her pencil against the side of her glasses. "I don't need an actual transcript, but some record of the schools you attended? High School diploma?"

_Oh fuck no._

It only takes one little nudge for the bottom to drop out of everything.

"My father is abusive," Loki explains when Juana looks concerned. Her neat dark eyebrows pull together. "We have a restraining order. I- I can't put my hands on any of my old stuff like that." _Fuck fuck fuck_. His heart is starting to really race, to the point where he's more than a little dizzy.

Even though he’s doing his best to fight it, he can feel that he’s gasping for air.

He must look like an idiot.

"I'm sorry," she says. "That sucks. Just get me the name of your high school and I'll work it out with them directly."

Loki takes a few deep breaths and looks at the little space on the form. That – just getting her the name; writing it neatly in the space provide – is something he _can_ do. He can also sign the 500 pieces of paper awaiting his personal attention.

It's not until he's faced with the utterly ridiculous process that is his benefits election that he feels himself starting to really melt down again.

"I'm sorry," he offers after biting Juana's head off for the third straight time. "I need to take a break from this." He does; it's making him want to cut, and he can't imagine _that_ will speed his road to confirmed employment. Not even here. "Now."

"Sure," she says. She looks a little like she's ready for a breather too, and he's abruptly glad he hasn't got _her_ job. She works the papers into a neater stack. "Do you want to take any of these home and review them with your partner?"

Oh, jesus. Thor in the paperwork would be every kind of nightmare. "Please, no," he wheezes, struggling to ready himself for pushback.

She's nice about it, actually. "Sure," she says again. She probably says _sure_ 500 times a day. "Can you do me a favor, though, and ask him to give you whatever he has on your current plan? I just want to review it," she explains as he starts to _oh-no-no_ refuse, "so I can help you better. Your sole job will be to lug it all here."

Loki swallows and nods. Put that way it doesn't sound so bad, except for the part about _asking his brother_... which is bound to open the door to a stunning range of conversational opportunities, each of which serves the singular divine intent of making his own head explode. 

He needs to get out of here.

"Can you give me a list I can hand him," he asks, nicely, to set the stage for a neat little lie; "That way I can be sure not to forget anything." _As if_.

The way Juana smiles makes Loki think she's probably on to him, but she keeps her opinion to herself and prints out a neat inventory instead. "The more he can provide you, the better," she says as he takes the paper, "but whatever you’re able to get - even if it's nothing - we can work with."

"Ain't _that_ the story of my life," he mutters under his breath. When Juana snickers as he's standing up to leave, he can only guess his inside voice has once again betrayed him.

~

"How'd it go," Dr. Riley stops Loki in the hall to inquire later. He’s headed for DBT and not in the right headspace for chatting. Or for covering his own ass by acting like a normal person.

"It's a lot of paperwork," he says, trying to edge away. "But- Juana seems helpful."

She eyes him skeptically. "You can do this, you know," she reminds him, because they have had this discussion more times than he cares to count, “and you can take your time. There’s no hurry.”

"Mm," he hums, because with her there's never any use in lying.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” she says.

It’s a threat, it’s a promise. Loki heaves a huge sigh. “I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole work thing takes some getting used to... and then it's not so bad.

The first day Loki’s 99% certain he's going to vomit. He nods and hums and shakes his head through Tyr's directions, making little notes on a fresh, white pad from time to time (more to distract himself from how sick he feels than anything; his hands are shaking so badly he can’t even read his own writing), until his _new boss_ finally stops and laughs.

"You are bright green," Tyr points out. "I feel a sympathy puke coming on just looking at you. First, some mint tea," he suggests, dropping two bags into a big mug. He stretches over the desk and fills the thing up with hot water from a tucked-away coffee station Loki hadn't even noticed. "And then why don't I leave you on your own to do a quick drawing supplies inventory? I think you'll feel better without me hovering over you and talking your head off."

"Thanks," Loki grits out between clenched teeth. He takes the inventory sheet Tyr hands him, and the clipboard.

"Let that tea steep about five minutes," Tyr instructs, pointing at the big digital clock over the door as he turns to go. "I'll check on you in about an hour and a half. If you need something before then, just come find me. I plan to be torturing the painters."

~

The tea helps, as does the surprisingly pleasing combination of a low-challenge task and a solid dose of peace and quiet. Before the hour is up, Loki has the whole thing done.

Checked for accuracy and everything. He’s not sure if he should feel proud or babied.

"Do you want me to enter this into the computer," he pokes his head into the paint studio to ask. "I don't have to- to _meet with_ ," he says, trying out his whole new _work self_ (the Loki that has meetings and classes instead of sessions), "Dr. Riley until 11. I should have plenty of time."

Tyr looks up from a client's easel and smiles. His face is speckled with blue and green. He looks pleased, not condescending, and that feels nice. "Hey, you're a lot faster at taking inventory than I am. Um, sure. You remember how?"

Loki shrug-nods. "I think so. If I screw something up I'll come get you," he promises. Everyone in the room is staring at him, and he’s suddenly starting to feel a bit on the sick side again.

"Go for it," Tyr suggests. "I know you can do it."

When he sits down at the computer Loki feels- warm. Warm and happy. He blames the tea.

It’s better than admitting he’s up and down like a giant fucking yo-yo.

~

Two days later, he’s in whining to Dr. Riley. “Fake it ‘til you make it,” he sneers. “I’m a walking cliché. A shitty one, even.”

She doesn’t laugh until he orders her not to, and then she won’t – or can’t – stop.

It’s contagious.

When he gets over being annoyed as hell, Loki has to admit (to himself, only to himself) he feels better.

~

As time goes by the whole _work thing_ mostly gets easier. There are days, to be sure - he drops things, he breaks things, clients get in his face and on his very, very frayed last nerve - and sometimes he finds himself really missing the luxury (and he sees it as one now, whereas he didn't – couldn’t, even - before) of zero expectations.

Still, overall, the job is easy but not boring. Surprisingly, that’s okay.

Tyr even manages to teach him to paint, after a fashion.

He gets a small raise. Once every couple of weeks he finds himself doing wheel-thrown pottery demonstrations for some of the clients while Tyr does the actual talking.

They start a sign-up sheet. People actually sign up. It’s amazing.

The days go a lot faster than they used to, and at night he’s pleasantly tired. Some nights he and Thor are so wiped out that they nod off on the sofa without even fucking. Not often – usually they get the fucking out of the way first, hard and fast and sloppy; just the way he likes it – but it happens.

They tease one another about feeling old.

Neither one of them readily admits it.

The two of them do still screech at each other sometimes, but more often than not they can both laugh it off and apologize for _bringing work home_.

It's weird, it's good. He has an ID badge and a paycheck and something real to put on the kind of resume other people take home to mommy and daddy.

~

After a few weeks he's hardly ever nervous _at work_ anymore. Tyr is a good boss, Loki thinks… a reasonable mix of helpful and willing to delegate, of available and hands-off.

When Loki tells his _good boss_ exactly that, Tyr grins. "You rock," he says, laughing. "And I suppose I should thank Malekith for setting such a low bar."

Loki still melts down in his sessions sometimes; he _is_ still crazy, after all. But - despite all the change - he doesn't cut and he doesn't use and he doesn't go stomping out on Thor or Ginny or any of the many other people who stand in line to grate on him over the course of your average month.

~

Darcy asks his opinion on some of the _artsier_ parts of the shelter's marketing copy... and on a tattoo she's considering (and it’s one that won't be going somewhere unmentionable).

In both cases, she waits for his opinion and then listens like what he’s saying actually means something.

~

He still pinches himself from time to time, just because his new life feels too ordinary to be real.

Dr. Riley assures him that's to be expected.

~

It doesn’t really make sense to him but, for whatever reason, having a meaningful (relatively speaking) schedule seems to help with what Loki supposes would be considered _time management_ , too. He eats when he's done with his morning session, moving right along – no dawdling! - to be sure he won't be late for DBT. Three days a week he's replaced his own afternoon _art break_ (since he isn’t typically finding he needs to run off and art just to get away from arting) with a solid block of time spent in the fitness center.

~

Now that he’s trying to accomplish something, just waving the weights around doesn’t cut it. Loki gets his workout plans from Steve; he's still too shy about the whole thing to ask his brother. Plus, as she’s quick to tell him, Siffy’s soon-to-be-husband's routines are far more sensible.

"You know I'm right," she points out when he scoffs. "I love you both to pieces but I'm not sure there ever was such a thing as a balanced Odinson."

He grins as she passes him a sheet of _backs and buns_. Thor will _like_ the results of this one. "If we were more stable," he kids her, "what would you _do_ with yourself?"

She reaches up to pat his cheek. "More crocheting," she says. They both double over, laughing hysterically.

When they can breathe again, they wipe their eyes and snuffle and agree: it's not even all that funny.

That’s okay. The sun is shining, spring is in the air. They’re being kind of ridiculous, yes, Loki and Sif… but for once it doesn’t matter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's coming up Loki. Mostly.

It had started out as a game of sorts, the kind where it's all fun and _you know what_ until someone loses an eye.

Loki had come home _from work_ with his hair in a ponytail of convenience; he'd been giving the pottery wheel a good cleaning and hadn't wanted to risk getting his hair caught up in the mechanism, after which point his walk home had been windy as fuck so he'd just left his curly idiocy be.

Thor had pointed and laughed. Loki had swung at him, an open-handed slap intended for his face; it had glanced harmlessly off his raised arm instead. At that point he'd tossed Loki over his shoulder and run around the living room, whipping the ponytail back and forth and smacking Loki's airborne bottom.

_Are you done_ , Loki had huffed when Thor'd finally put him down.

His brother had smirked, dangerously. "Only if you are."

Those had been fighting words. Thor had ambled back into the kitchen and selected himself a truffle from the box of fancy, handmade candy next to the fridge; as soon as he'd set it down to grab a glass out of the cabinet, Loki had picked up the truffle and _licked_.

And, of course, handed it off to Thor melted and a little drippy.

~

Which had brought them here.

And it’s a good place to be. Loki’s mind is still reeling a little from Thor’s- well, not proposing, exactly – it had been more like proposing to propose to propose, except for how there isn’t any point in proposing anyway, blah blah blah, and by the time his brother had finally stopped talking the roaring in Loki’s ears had pretty much drowned Thor out anyway – a couple of days ago. He could use a generous helping of spice mixed in with all the sweet.

The bit about putting a pretty, sparkly ring on his finger, though? That part had been nicer than it should be.

So, anyway: here. They are here, playing a game. The sort of game that quickly gets out-of-control dirty. At least, that’s what Loki’s hoping.

~

"What am I going to _do_ with you," Thor exclaims as he wipes his fingers on a paper towel. "Is nothing fucking sacred?" He's laughing, but Loki knows he's also disgusted and a little bit genuinely annoyed.

Loki winks. "I'm awful," he agrees without hesitation. "If I were you, I would punish me."

Thor's eyes narrow as his smile widens into a full-on grin. _Oh, yes_. "Do tell," he challenges.

"I think perhaps I would _spank me_ ," Loki suggests. "Put me over a knee and break out the paddle, even."

"And might this paddle live under the bed," Thor prompts. When Loki nods, his brother gestures in the general direction of the toy box. "Perhaps you should show me."

It’s not the sort of thing he has to be told twice, especially not with the mood he’s in. Loki dives between the bed and the wall and makes a good show of digging around. He's already hard beneath his clothing, and he's already panting; for sure this is going nowhere good, and that's exactly what he’s banking on. He needs it to go exactly where it’s headed.

Loki settles on a narrow, flat paddle; with his brother's strength behind it the thing is guaranteed to leave a mark.

Many marks, actually.

"Like this," he suggests, bringing the paddle down across his own palm with a ringing smack, "except somewhere better suited to spanking.”

Thor licks his red, red lips and moves closer. "Like here," he teases, stretching forward across the corner of the bed and cupping Loki's ass, "and here?" His fingers drag along the back of the nearest thigh; Loki shivers.

"Mm," he hums. "Exactly."

"Then give that to me," Thor orders. He puts out a hand; Loki dutifully passes him the paddle. "And lose all of this clothing."

Loki scrambles to get out of his pants and shirt as quickly as possible. He ducks past his brother to stand at the foot of the bed, with his hands clasped behind his back, and tries to ignore the way his own dick bobs as he breathes. "Where do you want me," he asks quietly, when Thor just stands there looking him up and down and up again.

Thor coughs into one shoulder. "Over my knee," he says, "just like you suggested.” His voice is rough. “Give me a second."

As Loki holds still, imitating a degree of patience he absolutely does not possess - practice really does make perfect, after all – his brother makes fast work of stripping.

It's (hot but, more than that,) gratifying to see Thor’s erection isn't exactly missing in action. This is the kind of territory his brother fervently tries to avoid; Loki would really rather not have yet another attempt at play end quickly and badly.

Thor takes a seat, not – surprisingly - on the end of the bed but on one of the heavy wood chairs that flank the long dresser. "Come here," he orders, stroking the palm of his left hand with the paddle and then patting his own thigh.

Loki does.

~

The first few strokes are light. He jumps - they startle him, and he's tensing some - but is careful not to squawk. Sometimes Thor is funny about _that kind of thing_ and Loki is determined not to blow this.

His resolve lasts right up until he accidentally (honest!) squirms against his brother’s dick, right where it's jutting up over his hip. This time, they both jump.

The next strike is a real one, and so is Loki's howl.

~

Well before his voice starts to give out Loki's backside is burning. He's prickly from above his tailbone well down the backs of both thighs; his skin is so hot that Thor's hand - when Thor stops for a moment to run a broad palm slowly, gently over his roasting-hot rump - feels cool.

His eyes and nose are watering; his dick slides wetly against his brother’s leg as he shifts and wriggles helplessly.

"More," Thor growls.

_Oh fuck yes_. "Please," Loki manages, barely. "And harder."

That’s about when every shred of control either one of them possesses goes directly in the shitter.

~

It’s maybe ten minutes later – not like he’s in any shape to be watching the clock, but it’s been long enough that his wailing has gotten the downstairs neighbor banging on the ceiling – when Loki finds himself with blood (not his own) on his teeth and his brother’s cock so far up his ass it should be coming out his nose any second now. Thor has him pinned to the mattress with one hand and is yelling and waving the other. Loki can’t quite make out what his brother is saying, but it doesn’t matter because he’s getting the exactly fucking he wanted.

Thor could be reciting case law, for all the attention Loki is paying. He can hardly keep it together enough to breathe.

And he couldn’t be happier about it.

Or about the way his brother sucks him off afterwards, without even asking. And that’s even after he bit the shit out of Thor’s hand, too.

Amazing.

~

They finally pull themselves together enough to crawl out of the slimy mess they’ve made of the bed and stagger off to the bathroom.

Loki leans against the counter while Thor lets the water warm up. His hair is fucking everywhere now, and he has a scrape on one cheek that’s going to be hard to explain tomorrow… but he’s grinning at his own reflection and he can’t stop. All this and the promise (of a promise of a promise) of a sparkly ring, too.

What’s not to like?

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Thor exclaims out of nowhere. Loki jumps and smacks a hip against the sink, painfully.

He’s startled out of his happy trance. “Whatever for,” he asks, looking at his brother in the mirror. _Please no please no_.

Thor frowns. “Your ass looks like it’s been through a war,” he tells Loki. “I know this sounds stupid, but I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Loki says. He sucks in a big breath, holds it while he counts silently to ten, and then sighs. “Okay, you did,” he admits, because they can both see that he’s lying and it seems the wrong time not- not to be honest. “But I wanted it. I really, _really_ wanted it.” He smiles gently into the mirror. “That’s a good kind of hurting.”

Thor closes his eyes. “I- I’m not sure I could talk about this in group,” he admits.

Oh no no. This is _not_ how a perfectly awesome evening ends.

Loki twists a little and pushes his brother’s hair back. There may still be a way out of this. “As our many therapists say,” he suggests, “ _let’s unpack this one a little_. Could you tell your group the rest?”

“The rest of what,” Thor asks, face suddenly bright pink.

“Exactly,” Loki says, because things are moving in the right direction again. “I’m not sure it’s the _spanking_ that’s really the problem, for a change.”

Thor pulls him in for a hug. “Maybe,” his brother admits, “but only maybe.”

_Just now_ , Loki thinks, _maybe might be good enough._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes a confession.

He picks at a nail where the scuffed black polish is yet again chipping. It's fucking ironic that, when he was sleeping on a pile of dirty blankets in the corner of some shitty-ass flophouse room and turning tricks for a living (with, yes, big Odin-esque air quotes all _over_ that whole thing), his nails were always perfect; now he has a real job and he's a mess half the time.

He can't help it. It's all the clay, and the water.

"Loki?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry," he tells Dr. Riley a little sheepishly. "My mind wandered. Um." Loki has to think for a second to remember what she'd asked him, partly because he’d been trying to forget it. "Yeah, actually, I guess I do have news." He puts on his best _cute-sweet-innocent_ face. From her reaction he can tell it’s not flying. "But it's really from a couple of days ago."

Dr. Riley laughs. "I'll expect it to be interesting, then," she teases. "Probably even entertaining."

Loki can feel his neck and face heating. "Thor mostly actually proposed to me,” he says, as fast as he can, “and I mostly actually said yes."

She blinks. "Okay, yes, that's interesting. Explain the _mostly actually_ part, if you don't mind. Parts, even."

"Hm." He isn't sure if he minds or not, really. The whole topic is proving to be surprisingly awkward going, even worse than he’d expected. "He- he asked me- he asked if - since we can't get married, being as we're doing the whole _incest thing_ \- I would be willing to make the same level of commitment. And, yes," he goes on as she shakes her head ruefully, "that's about how romantically he phrased it. But he did go on to say he wanted to be sure we were of one mind before he went and bought me a ring and- um- really did it. You know, properly."

His face is fucking burning up. If it was dark in this office they could probably both read by the glow of it. He tries as best he can to make eye contact; for whatever stupid reason it's really, really challenging.

"And what did you tell him," she asks.

"I said I thought I would be. Willing." He nods. "Because I did.” He still does, very much so, and that scares him. “And then the whole next day my head was just a jumbly mess." Loki snorts. “I mean, more so than usual.”

Dr. Riley shrugs. "That's a big, big thing. I'd be a jumbly mess too. I don’t think that in and of itself is a problem." _Well, that much is good, because he’s not sure he does either._ She studies Loki closely while he blushes and smiles and wriggles. "Did you see Thor last night," she asks at some length. "When you got home, I mean."

"Mm," he hums. "I did."

"So," she prompts, "how did you feel about things then?"

"Good," he says. "Coming home to him was a relief. A pleasure."

She smiles, genuine and happy. "Nice. Did you tell him that?"

_Not exactly_. He scoots down and hides his face against the side of his chair. "I showed him," he corrects her. _Oh, what the hell_. "I- I licked his chocolate. Literally."

Dr. Riley barks out a real laugh. "Well," she says, "where I come from nothing says true love like wet candy."

Loki’s on a bit of a roll now. His mouth invariably has a mind of its own and this stuff evidently wants to be said. Why, he’s not sure, but it does. "I talked him into play-punishing me," he goes on, because there’s no point in a halfway confession. "There might have been spanking. With one of the good paddles. I may have screamed so loudly – simply because I can - that it set off the neighbors. And on top of all that I just might have bitten Thor's hand. Hard. Like, blood."

She frowns. "Did that escalate," she asks, concerned. He’s sure she’s looking at the scrape on his cheek and jumping to (understandable, but) unwarranted conclusions.

"He fucked me into the mattress, as close to literally as possible," Loki tells her. He knows that isn’t what she means, but life in therapy doesn’t always make the best sense and he isn’t sure whether or not it somehow counts anyway. "It was amazing." He shrugs; his shirt pulls against the leather chair. "He was a little weird about the whole thing afterwards, but I think I talked him down in the end."

She chews the inside of her lip and watches him for a solid minute. He passes the time thinking about all that lovely fucking, which is probably not the best way to handle things. Oh well. "So you're good with all this,” she asks him; he jumps a little. The chair squeaks.

He takes a deep, deep breath and nods. "Believe it or not, “ he says on a loud exhale, “I think so."

"And today? How is today going?"

"I'm still a little scatterbrained," he admits. "All I can think about is how nice a pretty sparkly thing would look on this finger." He holds the finger in question up and eyes it briefly. "And how I need to invest in better topcoat."

"First answer that comes to mind," she instructs, not smiling like he'd expected. "Would you still want to go through with this if it weren’t for the ring?"

_Oh._ My, no, that’s not what he was thinking – not what he meant - at all.

Loki nods again, more forcefully this time. "I pretty much already _have_ gone through with it, haven't I?"

~

Tyr pokes his head into the cafeteria while Loki's in the lunch line to ask if he can watch the desk for a few minutes. "Sure," Loki says, setting his tray back down.

"No no, go ahead, get your lunch and bring it with you," Tyr tells him. "i just need a couple of minutes in the back to mess with the stupid floor drain before the afternoon classes start."

Loki grins. “Oh, so jealous. I’ll be right there.”

~

When he gets to the studio, he can’t stop grinning. “Can you keep a secret,” he asks Tyr when his boss comes back up front to grab a different screwdriver.

Tyr’s eyes narrow. “I work _here_ , don’t I?”

It’s close enough to a yes. “My partner and I might be getting married,” Loki blurts out. Now that the door’s cracked open, he can’t seem to shut it. “Please,” he begs, “don’t tell anybody.”

“You wish,” Tyr says, and Loki’s heart stops for a second before he realizes his boss is kidding.

“I’m telling every pencil in this joint,” Tyr mock-threatens, shaking the index finger of his prosthesis in Loki’s face. “Just you try and stop me.”


End file.
